Freddie Solomon died Monday without any football regrets. If you ever saw him play, you’d have one.

Imagine if Michael Vick spent his career as a wide receiver. Or if all those mock drafts had Robert Griffin III being converted to cornerback.

With Vick, at least we know the quarterback fun we’d have missed. With Solomon, one can only imagine.

“I don’t look back and wonder whether I could have or couldn’t have,” he said. “I just did the best I could.”

It was 10 years ago. Vick was just starting to dazzle the NFL, and I wondered if Solomon was having any flashbacks.

He was mentoring kids at a Tampa high school. Few of them realized what a great NFL receiver he was. None of them had a clue what a dynamo he was at the University of Tampa.

Their coach did. Billy Turner was Tampa’s offensive line coach in the early 1970s. He’d occasionally break out a projector and thread some old some game film for his players. The kids were amazed by what they saw.

“Vick?” Turner mused. “He’s close to being Freddie.”

And Freddie was as close to an irresistible force as college football had seen. Don’t be misled by the fact he played for little old U of Tampa.

Players like John Matuszak and Leon McQuay made it the team none of the big boys wanted to play. Tampa was the kind of renegade place where nobody freaked out if a black player took snaps from center.

Along came Solomon. He was a cobbler’s son from Sumter, S.C., who grew up idolizing Joe Namath. The Spartans’ option attack was perfect for his skills.

He piled up 5,803 yards total offense in three years. His 3,299 yard rushing set an NCAA record for quarterbacks.

After Solomon passed for 103 yards and ran for 182 against his team, Miami coach Pete Elliott called him “the biggest threat I’ve ever seen on a football field.”

Solomon went to the East-West Shrine game and was named offensive MVP. If it were 2012, we’d be debating which NFL team should trade up and take a chance on him.

It was 1975, and Solomon was drafted as an “Athlete.”

“Whatever that meant,” he said.

That meant we he was a victim of the Jim Crow quarterback laws. Generations of coaches had been raised believing black kids weren’t cerebral enough for the position.

Individually, the coaches might not have been racist. But collectively they represented an institutional failure that wouldn’t be fixed for another couple of decades.

The Dolphins took Solomon in the second round. He’d never run a pass route in his life, but they saw him as a wide receiver. It was rough at first, though Solomon’s talent was apparent enough.

He had a 53-yard touchdown catch, a 59-yard touchdown run and a 79-yard punt return for a score in one game. Miami traded him to San Francisco after two seasons.

The Dolphins were eyeing a title and wanted a more polished receiver. The 49ers were a joke, but that gave Solomon a place to develop.

“I decided I’d better learn to play receiver,” he said, “or my career was over.”

His career took off. Solomon won two Super Bowl rings with the 49ers. Joe Montana remembered him as a receiver who never came back to the huddle complaining that he wasn’t thrown to.

Solomon was Terrell Owens in a parallel universe, quietly going about his business. His quarterback days became just an enticing memory, though the NFL did get one glimpse.

It was the final game of the 1978 season in Detroit. Steve DeBerg got hurt. Backup quarterback Scott Bull went down. San Francisco put in defensive back Bruce Threadgill, who’d played some quarterback in Canada.

He also had a broken hand. They cut off his cast so he could take snaps.

They should have kept it on.

Threadgill’s first two passes were intercepted. The Lions led, 33-7, so coach Fred O’Connor figured he had nothing to lose by sticking Solomon behind center.

He rushed for 42 yards and passed for 85 more. When he capped a late touchdown drive with an 11-yard run, even Detroit fans applauded.